


Assassins Unite

by tklivory



Series: The Inn Between Loads [2]
Category: Assassin's Creed, Discworld - Terry Pratchett, Dragon Age, Final Fantasy VIII
Genre: Education, F/M, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-25
Updated: 2012-10-25
Packaged: 2017-11-17 00:23:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/545471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tklivory/pseuds/tklivory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Welcome to the Inn Between Loads, where any character can sit back, relax, and commiserate with someone else about the crap they go through. In this case, Zevran Arainai, after a disappointingly short appearance in Dragon Age, meets a young sniper and decides to give him some pointers about wine, women, and killing. After all, everyone needs some pointers some time in their life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Assassins Unite

It was a busy night at the Inn Between Loads. Though the proprietor was, as always, silent on the reasons behind why the Inn's clientele seemed to fluctuate on an almost weekly basis, his cool gaze of stars kept careful watch of all those who came and went, tending to his tasks with a silent dedication that none noticed and listening to his patrons' complaints about their misadventures with far more amusement than his skull showed.

Still, even for the tall hooded skeleton with star blue eyes and the dedication of a faithful bloodhound, there were times when he had to leave the Inn in charge of another so he could attend to... more  _pressing_ matters. After all, his warrior friend required some assistance of his own, and now it was his turn to wield his scythe to save humanity. For a time, anyway.

Thus it was that when Zevran Arainai walked through the familiar entrance of the Inn, grumbling to himself that he hadn't even been given a  _chance_  to persuade that rather handsome young dwarf with the intriguing mark on his face to spare him. With a sigh, he handed over his weapons to the... individual who kept track of all the weaponry that passed through the doors of the Inn and tried to pass within. As usual, the large hand moved in front of him and turned palm up, waiting. With a chuckle, Zevran deposited his hidden knives and, when the hand refused to budge, his secret poinard. "Keen as always, my friend. What would we do without you, so silent and vigilant?"

The hand withdrew, and Zevran was allowed to pass. He was pondering his continued desire to needle the doorman when his eyes landed on the vision behind the bar, and it was  _not_ a skeleton this time. Oh, no, now a tall, elegant human of striking beauty was behind the bar, her pure white hair accented with a streak of black. Though she was cleaning the bar and pouring drinks to take to the tables, he found it difficult to accept that such beauty must be sullied by something so mundane as  _serving drinks_ , and decided he should get to know her better. After all, the introduction of new servers at the Inn was a rare and precious event.

He took one of the few empty tables and raised his hand, waiting for her nod of acknowledgment. Setting a final drink on her tray, she began wending her way through the floor of the Inn, giving Zevran ample opportunity to admire the way she bent over to set the drinks on the table - or perhaps, admiring what happened underneath that dress of hers as she did so. As she was delivering the final drink, however, the man who had ordered it gently took her hand and brought it to his face, and the woman tried to pull it back without much success.

His attention turned to the one who had elicited such a reaction.  _I... don't think I've run into him before. An... interesting outfit, to say the least._  He wore a wide-brimmed hat similar to that of John Marston, a man Zevran had quickly formed a friendship with when they had realized the similarity of their backgrounds.  _What did he call it? Ah, yes, a_ cowboy _hat._ Shaking his head, Zevran continued his examination of this new individual: black cowboy hat, long brown hair tied back in a queue, a brown trenchcoat, fingerless gloves and an oversized but empty holster at his hip. Now intrigued, and curious if this fellow was also an acquaintance of Marston, he left his table and approached them.  _Satisfy my curiosity about both the man and woman - the plan cannot fail._

Sliding into the seat at the same table - not an unusual behavior at the Inn, certainly, where one's time in the Inn was sometimes short-lived and friendships were held close - he grinned at the man and woman. "Pardon me, but I could not help noticing that you were making the acquaintance of our lovely hostess. Surely you did not intend to keep such glory exclusively at your side? Other men have needs as well, my friend." Ah, how he loved the play of words. The woman blushed in a rather fetching fashion.  _Ah, she has the knack of that fine art, that is certain,_  he observed with admiration. "Forgive the observation, my lady, but may I say that your blush is like the finest rose on skin as delicately pale as yours? A shame you must attend to your duties, but perhaps I could assist you if you desired it?"

She smiled at him. "No, thank you. It is my duty to tend the Inn when my grandfather is otherwise occupied." Her eyes moved over his famous tattoo. "Zevran Araiani? You're in his notes. You will want Antivan ale, then?" Her gaze grew more chill as she looked at Zevran's table companion. "And I believe you, sir, I have already helped."

"Ah, my dear, you have read my mind if not my heart," Zevran said with a grin, though his mind filed away the  _grandfather_  mention for later scrutiny. "And please, do not mind my young friend here. Can you blame a parched man for drinking in such loveliness as yourself?"

The chill faded, and the small points of blue light that seemed to be emerging from the back of her gaze likewise disappeared, and she sighed. "No, I suppose not. I'll be back shortly."

Zevran turned his attention to the young man, even though he would have rather watched the lady's leavetaking. Holding out his hand, he said, "Zevran Arainai. Zev to my friends."

The man - very young, younger than Zevran had originally thought - looked at the hand before sighing and presenting his own. "Irvine Kinneas. Irvine to my friends... when I have any."

"Ah, now that is a sad, sad statement. Why would such a handsome lad such as yourself lack for companionship?" He had a hunch why, but part of the solution was in making Irvine understand this.

"You tell me. I tend to think that people just can't handle me, you know? A lot of greatness bottled up in this great bod." His hand tapped his chest, an arrogant grin coming to his face. "Just because I'm holding out for that someone special doesn't mean that I can't appreciate the view along the way, you know?"

Zevran chuckled.  _Ah, the arrogance of youth. I know I must have been young like that, but not, I think, lately._  "This is very true, my friend. Still, sometimes, I have noticed, there are those who prefer to be admired rather than sniffed."

Irvine's brow wrinkled, but before he could comment, the white-haired beauty returned, putting Zevran's drink in front of him. "Your order, ser. Am I to assume that you returned here rather earlier than you expected? Do you wish your room prepared?"

"Ah, you are indeed quite kind, my lady. I would be most grateful." He patted her arm companionably, allowing his fingers to linger just a moment or two longer than absolutely necessary, but not enough to be an imposition. "Since it is likely I will be here longer than is my usual span, perhaps I could tell you tales that it seems you have not heard yet? Your grandfather I have bored to enough tears, but I do not see any such moisture on your cheeks. That hardly seems fair, now, does it?"

The woman laughed. "We shall see. Oh, I can see that Grandfather was right about you."

"You wound me, my dear. You haven't even heard my poetry yet."

"Maker willing, I never will," she muttered, and they shared a laugh. "Let me know when you need a refill."

As she wandered away, both men indulged in 'the view', but only one of them truly enjoyed it. "How did you- Have you met her before?" Irvine asked.

"Hmm, no. But all lovely ladies should be treated with respect and admiration, I find. It usually inclines them more kindly towards you." He deliberately blocked a particular cynical but beautiful shapeshifting witch from his memory and grinned as he hefted his ale. "Let me guess, you try to convince them that life is not complete without you from the very first words? With this woman, for example, what did you do to make her react so?"

The other man frowned, boyish face serious. _Yes, quite a_ handsome _young lad_ , he thought as he forced himself to pay attention to the other's words.

"I... I just told her that the man of her dreams had arrived, and kissed her hand. I didn't really force it on her. Did I?" He sighed. "Man, even here in the Inn it's complicated. I'd hoped at least that a woman who didn't know me wouldn't treat me like... like-"

"A boy desperate for attention? Someone who would take anybody? A man interested in only one thing?" He downed half his drink while Irvine mulled over his words. "Ah, but you chose a very poor opening line.  _You_  told  _her_  what she should desire. Very bad judgment. A gentle compliment usually works, or a warm but neutral greeting. Even if you are trying to impress her in a specific, bed-related fashion, you should still show more interest in what  _she_  wants rather than telling her what you think she  _should_  want." He delicately licked a line of ale from his lip. "A common error, I assure you, and there are some women who, sadly, have such poor esteem of themselves that it works. Obviously, of course, our hostess is not among that number." His smile faltered as he thought of how many of the women - and men, for that matter - he'd been sent to assassinate over the years had fit in the latter category. Again pushing the darker thought away, he said, "Come, come, let me demonstrate."

Irvine hesitated, his reluctance evident. "...How?"

"I shall treat you as if I were trying to attract your attention. It is merely an exercise, of course, but I think a valuable one, if you wish to make a better impression on the ladies. I only wish to help you master the ability to woo women correctly, after all. It is, I am sad to say, a dying art form, and I am always pleased to find someone else willing to worship at that altar, so a little training on my part would not be amiss, no?"

The young man mulled it over for a while as he drank some of his beer, then shrugged. "All right, we'll play it your way. Shoot."

"Excellent." He settled back in his seat and assumed one of his most charming smiles. "That is a most intriguing holster at your side. I admit that I am not familiar with such matters, being a dagger man myself. Tell me, how did you come by such a large tool and the skill to wield it?"

Irvine brightened. "What, my gun? Well, that's quite a tale, actually." Just as Zevran planned, the young man began talking about his weapon - though, sadly, the innuendo seemed to go straight over his head. As he progressed through the tale, Zevran interacted with him quite subtly, with various nods, exclamations, and questions to show that he was indeed listening and not merely looking at Irvine and drinking. Eventually he began to lean forward, noting with amusement that, as planned, the other man mimicked his shift of posture, until they were both leaning over the table, as intimate as the furniture between them could allow.  _Ah, yes, even on this one the technique works._

"A sniper? Hmm, so you assassinate people as well?" He slapped a palm lightly on the surface of the table and turned it up to illustrate his words. "So few understand what it is like to hold another's life so  _intimately_  in their hand. It is indeed a marvel to meet a kindred spirit in this place."

If anything, this made Irvine lean in more, draining the last of his beer as his face sobered. "Yeah. I... I'm trained in it, but I don't have a lot of actual targets under my belt. Not people, anyway. But... the closing of the mind to all else while I sit there, my rifle in my hands... The focus, on just my fingers, my arms, and that blot at the other end of the scope... Knowing that just a tiny bit of a flex of the finger means  _poof_  - that blot will just become so much dead weight..." He looked down at his hand, flexing his finger tightly before relaxing it, then clenched his whole fist.

"There is nothing like it," Zevran said quietly. "So different from killing in passion or defense or battle. Ending a life is an odd sense of power, thrill, and terror all at once."

Irvine's eyes snapped up to meet his, and Zevran suddenly realized that no-one had ever said such a thing to him.  _So sad, when an assassin is more alone than he needs to be._  "Yeah," the man said. "Exactly."

Sensing that the mood needed to change before it got - Maker forbid -  _depressing,_ Zevran turned to the lovely hostess and signaled for refills. After she nodded at him, he regarded Irvine with a small smile on his face and said, "Now, my friend, tell me in truth: how do you feel towards me?"

A ripple of emotions played across Irvine's face, and he suddenly sat back as if just now realizing how close to Zevran he had allowed himself to be drawn. After a few moments of discomfiture and glancing around the room, a rueful grin settled on his face as he turned back to Zevran. "Like I wish you were a woman. Damn, you're right. I really gotta change my angle of attack. I never thought-" He stopped, clapping his mouth shut as the hostess stopped by the table and began to distribute their drinks.

Zevran nudged the sharpshooter's foot under the table, hard enough to break through the man's distraction. He couldn't say anything, but he nodded his head towards the woman with a  _Come on!_  expression on his face before taking his drink and standing. "Forgive me, but I must depart. I see a good friend just entered, and would like to have a word with him."

Without looking back, he worked his way to the man dressed in white and red, settling back to enjoy his Antivan ale with a slight smirk on his face.

"Why the amusement,  _amico?_ "

Zevran noticed that his fellow assassin was also watching Irvine try his new 'angles' on the ravishing hostess, though that probably had more to do with the fact that, from where they sat, her dress was falling over her derriere in a most fetching fashion. Ezio did indeed have a fine eye for the ladies. "That one is trying to impress the rather lovely new hostess who is, apparently, the granddaughter of our rather more skeletal mainstay in the Inn. He seems to be doing better than last time, when he was working towards a slap from said beauty."

Indeed, Irvine had managed to elicit a smile from the previously stern-faced woman, and was listening most attentively as she talked. After a minute, she sat down at the table with him and began to talk with him more animatedly.

"He seems to be doing well indeed. I've seen him in here before, attempting to attract the attention of some of the ladies that pass through. He always seemed to end up a  _triste cucciolo_ rather than a  _stallone forte._  Even Leonardo could do better than him." He sipped from his wineglass thoughtfully. "But then, I suppose even I had to fail a few times in that arena before I learned the ways of women. He will learn."

"Ah, yes, I do believe he will. Though of a different sort, he is as we: a killer of silent grace and deadly necessity. The women eventually find us all irresistible, yes?"

With a cocky grin, Ezio raised his glass to Zevran, inviting a toast. "To assassins! We always get our mark, whether it is inscribed in the use of a dagger or of another blade entirely!"

"Now  _that_  is a sentiment I can toast to! To assassins!"

Their glasses clinked, but before Zevran was able to drink it, a slap echoed through the room, followed quickly by the sound of a drink being poured over someone's head, and they looked over in time to see the delectable woman walking away from Irvine with stiff shoulders and a huff, leaving the sniper in a sad little pool of alcoholic failure.

Zevran looked at Ezio. "Well, I tried. Perhaps  _you_  could give him some pointers, yes?"

" _Bene_ , give me the difficult task of picking him up after such a poor outcome." Ezio drained his wine glass as he stood. "Still, he has some potential, so I shall do my best." His deep brown eyes gleamed with amusement as he looked at the assassin. "And I suppose you will console the maiden?"

"I could not let such a beauty remain in such a poor mood, now, can I? Besides, anger lines are like frown lines: good to smooth away with fingers, better to smooth away with lips." Ignoring Ezio's snort, he began to make his way to where the woman was furiously scrubbing at the bar with a cloth, muttering to herself.

_Now to prove how ridiculously awesome I truly am._

_._

* * *

.

.

**_Included characters:_ **

_Proprietor:_ _ **Death**_ _from Terry Pratchett's_ _ **Discworld**_ or  ** _Darksiders II_**  
Granddaughter:  _ **Susan Sto Helit**_ _(from Terry Pratchett's_ _ **Discworld**_ _)  
_ _ **Zevran Arainai**_ _: Assassin from_ _ **Dragon Age**_ _series  
_ _ **Ezio Auditore**_ _: Assassin from_ _ **Assassin's Creed**_ _series_  
Bouncer: ? (not yet revealed)

_Honorable mention:_

**_John Marston_** _: Gunslinger from_ Read Dead Redemption


End file.
